Back to the job...

When I regained consciousness I was sitting on a dusty old couch next to a mountain of empty pizza boxes which was pilled to the mountain of empty cans mostly of coke, coffee, beer, water and tuna. My feet were resting on an unstable stack of Mc Donald toys. I was holding the remote to my 15 inch box TV which was showing nothing but static bullshit.

I looked at my tee-shirt. It stretched half way along my tummy and had red blots all over it. (No it wasn’t blood. Maybe ketchup stains.) Last time I saw myself I was about 85 kilograms. Now I felt 200 kilograms.
I was shit scared and I needed a tub of chocolate ice cream and a can of Pepsi…
Fuck that. I tried to get up but I couldn’t, then I remembered this trick I learned from my friends (this is an old yet effective trick passed from generation to generation). I grabbed my lighter (Don’t ask me where it came from) and got ready to fart.

3… 2… 1… Lift off…

Brain people captain to Base couch, Fatty is up and on the go. (Believe it or not, there are little people living inside your head controlling you.)

A huge explosion made me jump from the couch leaving a trail of smoke behind.
I wobbled my way to the kitchen. It was the only place left clean in my whole closet apartment. I had eaten everything. From the food in the fridge to the cookies in the emergency cookie jar, (I kept an emergency cookie jar for emergencies like these. Guess it didn’t help much) to the wood of the door and the little rat in the rat hole.

My phone started ringing. (It always rings in times like these.)

Me: “Yo!”

Voice: “Agent Omgimfreakingfat?”

Me: “yes who the fuck are you?”

Voice: “I’m your mission giving guy whom you have never seen.”

Me:” oh. Hey mission giving guy whom I have never seen.”

Mission giving guy whom I have never seen: “I have a job for you.”

Me: “Not now. I’m freaking fat”

Mission giving guy whom I have never seen: “I know. That’s your code name”

Me: “No. I’m really freaking fat and chubby”

Mission giving guy whom I have never seen: “Really? How much fat are we talking about?”
Me: “Fat enough that I can’t even see my erected penis while I look down.”

Mission giving guy whom I have never seen: “you’re not fat, you need a bigger penis.”

Me: “fuck you man. What do you think? I’m Japanese?”

Mission giving guy whom I have never seen: “oh.”

Me: “Listen mission giving guy whom I have never seen, give me 2 months. I’ll be back by then.”

I threw away the phone and got on the treadmill.


After two months of continuous running on the treadmill and sweating out floods of sweaty and salty sweat, I came back to shape.

Then what?

I packed in my handguns, shotguns, bazookas, Nukes, nuke detonator, swords, nanchaks, ninja stars, lucky underwear, throwing knives, knuckles, blood hounds, and some extra muscle. All in my handy Swiss pack it all army knife.

And then I sat on my couch, turned on the TV and waited for the ‘mission giving guy whom I have never seen’ to call and while I was at it I ordered some pizza and some coke and maybe a burger and a candy bar, all low fat. : P


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Life has been lazy since the past Two months and it’s still lazy. Fuck that.
Since everyone is on face fucking book, we are adding a bridge to our facebook thingi.
Oh and I felt the need to have a last name so I changed my name from Aj to Aj Mercy.
Love…
Aj Mercy :3